Early morning

There was frost on the ground in Hogsmeade, and had been the past few days when he’d visited to watch the modest cottage on Fawley Lane. As such, even the relatively untravelled ice around him had become dirty with mud, the ground beneath waking up for Spring. He’d had to take care to hide his tracks.

It was Sunday morning and the sun was creeping above the horizon in a half-hearted attempt to warm the earth and rid it of the ice. Ignan Storm had just left for the Muggle newsagents at the other end of the village. He would be about twenty minutes. Lawrence had timed the previous week.

At the kitchen window, his eyes caught movement. Miranda Storm was easily recognisable even without her face on, wearing a dressing gown and smoking at the sink. She wasn’t bad looking, considering their mutual age. Of the two of them, she had certainly aged more favourably. Azkaban and the past year outside of it had aged Lawrence’s face, even if he wasn’t as frail and thin as he had been on his release last February.

Despite the sleepy morning in Hogsmeade, his mind was busy with the ever-present sense of dementors. There were none at his shoulder at that moment, but he could feel they were not too far from the village. At least they were not ravenous, they would have flocked to him if they wanted feeding, keen for him to provide. It was exhausting to keep up with them, if he was honest, but Lawrence wasn’t known for his staggering honesty.

Lawrence stepped forward quietly, head and shoulders above the garden wall. His heavy, dark cloak was tattered at the foot which skimmed the top of the ground above well-worn boots. It kept him warm enough in the cold weather and was less recognisable than the original coat he’d clung to until he left it behind with Knox and Hannah last summer. The cloak had a hood heavy enough to stay put as he moved, and deep enough to hide his face. However, as he glared over the wall and straight into the kitchen, he wondered if old Andy Carter would recognise him still. Quaint of her to believe moving house would make him leave her alone.

Sunday was a day that Miranda made a real effort to keep free now that she and Ignan had moved into their new home in Hogsmeade. It was the one day of the week they could nearly guarantee spending some time together unless either of them was desperately needed. One never knew with their jobs. Yet despite neither working this Sunday, they were both in the habit of rising early and Ignan had already gone to collect the muggle paper for the simple reason of attempting and then failing at the crossword in it. Miranda had requested he purchase her some of ‘those minty hard ball things’ on his travels.

Teacup in hand, Mrs Storm stood in the kitchen window looking out into the dusk at their quaint little garden. It needed work but that would be in the warmer seasons. Currently there was a light dusting of snow over the grass and plants. As she stared out and brought her cigarette to her lips, Mira froze upon a quick movement just beyond the wall surrounding their plot of land. A horrible feeling hit the pit of her stomach and her cigarette was stubbed out in a nearby ashtray, fingers of her left hand instead finding her wand from the dressing gown pocket.
Someone was watching her.

Two nights ago a similar feeling had come across Miranda as she’d been at the windows in their living room. Ignan had evidently tried not to seem too irritated when she’d sent him out to check, only to return with nothing to report. But for it to happen again. There was no Ignan to send outside this time. Wand now out and in her hand, Miranda walked over to their back door near the kitchen taken and unlocked it. Her heart’s beating was the only thing she could suddenly hear and she’d forgotten to breathe as barefeet stepped out onto the snow covered patio slabs.

“Lumos.” The tip of her wand lit as she stepped further into the garden, holding the wand up in the dim light of the rising sun. The cold bit through her thin night robe and bare feet but she needed to know there wasn’t anyone. The garden was clear. Was she really paranoid?

The dressing gown left very little to the imagination, Lawrence thought as he stood quite still on the edge of the cottage boundary. Andy had always been too terse, cold, abrasive at Hogwarts for a teenage Lawrence to bother making an approach or find her particularly attractive. It hadn’t stopped him making the sly flirtatious comment as he had with all the girls. He might not have been the most handsome in their year, but he hadn’t lacked female company when he’d set out to obtain it.

This cold, crisp March morning he could entirely see where Ignan Storm was coming from in marrying her. His earlier evaluation that the witch had aged well was now enhanced - she really was ageing well. Then again, as a very clever healer, undoubtedly magic had a bit of a hand in her more youthful appearance. Either that or those weren’t her real legs, because she’d forgotten her slippers, which even to Lawrence seemed like a bit of a silly thing to do when the ground was frozen.

Rather than stay indoors, she had clearly sensed or seen something of him to draw her out. He had observed now and before that Mrs Storm did not feel inclined to remove herself from their home to smoke outside, however much the house elf might suggest it. The elf in question was not at home, following a weekly routine of going to the Sunday market in Diagon Alley to get the freshest produce for Sunday lunch. Miranda was entirely alone.

Lawrence inhaled deep lungfuls of cold morning air and exhaled noisily, allowing a rush of warm breath to cloud before him, a subtle but visible enough indication to the now vigilant Head Healer. Silently, he stared at her.

Wand light was cast around the garden slowly, following the edge of the wall as Miranda shivered in the silence. A long exhale of air made the witch spin around, wand pointed straight ahead. The dim light cast a shadow of a hooded figure just above the wall and fear gripped her whole body as the adrenaline began to flow through her veins. She didn’t dart back inside of make any brash movements. Neither could she grab her healer’s badge for auror contact as that was currently on the bedside table upstairs in the little cottage. Her wand hand was extended and shaky, Miranda tried to make out the figure in the dusk.

Despite the hood and the appearance similar to that of a dementor’s, the healer knew exactly who had been watching her for the past week. She knew exactly who was stood staring at her from the other side of the wall. She also knew exactly what she needed to do. It had been decided weeks ago should he reappear. When he reappeared.

“I expected you sooner than this, Musgrave.” The witch spoke, trying to conceal the fear from her voice. Dark eyes stared through her glasses at the hooded figure. “You must be desperate for a hot chocolate.” Eyebrows rose and she lowered her wand slightly. Musgrave knew she wasn’t a threat. Not a direct one.

There was a teh of amusement from the wizard stood outside the boundary, visible by the little puff of condensed breath curling out from beneath the hood.

He was both pleased and a little peeved she recognised, or guessed his identity. Her hands were not in her pockets as they had been before. He had gone over their last meeting in his head and realised how she had managed to raise the aurors so subtly. He had underestimated her in his desperation for assistance with his head. Weeks on, and although he was still struggling with erratic moods and a constant baying hunger, he at least felt a little more in control of the dementors for his own suffering. Still, he had questions, and he was very alone. Miranda had the knowledge, the insight which could answer some of the questions.

“You have some this time?” He spoke at last. His voice was hollow, and his throat sounded a little raw, though still carried with enough volume to present himself confidently. He was a little weary from a night awake, but seeing Miranda now made him feel wide awake with the knowledge he had just under twenty minutes to gain what he could.

“Are you inviting me in?”

Inside Miranda was kicking herself for not having sprinted upstairs for her badge to hail the aurors or for trying to hex Musgrave where he was. The extreme curiosity she went about anything would get in her serious trouble one day. A little voice in her mind couldn’t help but suggest today was the day.
But if she kept him here long enough for Ignan to come home... He’d been an auror, he knew how to apprehend someone.

“Are you inviting me in?” The small voice said no. It said to run back inside and hope Ignan’s wards held up.
Miranda’s curiosity won out and she gave a shrug, trying to appear calm.
“Unless you want to stay out here in the cold.” Despite herself, her body was shivering in the freezing weather. She’d always hated slippers but in this case they would have been a wise idea. Her toes were probably turning blue!
“It’s much politer to knock on a door than stalk around someone’s garden.” Ignan wouldn’t be long. She could do this. She could get what she and the aurors needed. “Well come on.” Turning on her heel, Miranda quickly walked back into the house, leaving the door open for Musgrave. She flicked her wand at the kettle on the stove and the ring beneath it lit up to boil the water. Her wand was then pointed at her feet and a warming spell began to gently heat her freezing toes.

“Unless you want to stay out here in the cold.”

This was an altogether much more cordial and less frightened response from Miranda than the previous occasion. Then again, he hadn’t broken into her house and laid in wait for her this time. The cold didn’t bother him quite as much as it visibly seemed to be her, he could make out the flexing in her legs that betrayed her confident outlook and suggested shivering. It was doubtful her husband would recommend she invite him in, unless he was still inside.

“It’s much politer to knock on a door than stalk around someone’s garden.” Lawrence tilted his head to his right at this, considering her confidence. She had probably gone through a hundred different possible things she should have said or done last time, and was now trying to stick to one. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come back, perhaps it was too predictable. Or perhaps she had decided to keep her oath and help him regardless of who he was or what he had done. “Well come on.”

He watched her vanish inside and waited a moment, straining his ears before he looked about himself over the faint rattle of his own breath. The birds were still burbling uninterrupted, the village was still sleeping and the sun still climbing. Lawrence followed the wall a few feet to the garden gate and re-examined it. There were runes carved into the stones either side, fresh carvings. Her husband had been far more prudent this time. However, Miranda had just invited him in. These were against intruders and negative magic. Taking a deeper breath, and another glance around himself, he reached out his left arm, devoid of hand and touched the gate. Happy things were as they should be, he let himself pass through.

If this was a trap, it was the house, or the time. Lawrence reopened the gate and left it wide open before skulking down the garden in the direction of the back door, wand in his remaining right hand. He moved with his head down, constantly vigilant, treading lightly. The dark wizard looked like a stray tomcat chancing on someone feeling sorry enough to feed him, and the truth was pretty much the same.

A dementor, perhaps three miles from the village was hunting, but seemed to find distraction enough to pass through his thoughts without prolonging its interest. There was a chorus of others whispering in the background, all too far to be quite clear, like a wireless three rooms away behind a closed door. Muffled.

Lawrence paused on the patio where Miranda had stood a moment before, barefoot. He could smell the dregs of morning coffee, of breakfast and his stomach rumbled conspicuously. Although he ate far better these days, he hadn’t eaten all night and had been out in the cold. The dementors in his head constantly craved nourishment of an entirely different sort and it muddled his own understandings of hunger pangs.

Looks cozy. Lawrence thought to himself, observing what he could from outside. Stood closer to the cottage, his appearance was far easier to observe in the light that spilled out. His cloak was spattered with brown mud, frayed at the bottom, and covered worn black leather boots with muddy, scraped toes. His black, straggly hair was now streaked with more grey, his gaze seemed unsettled, and the end of his nose was red from the cold. His hand bore a fingerless dark green glove, and his cloak sleeve completely obscured the stump of his wrist. Feels warmer in there too.

His fingers twisted his wand, indecisive, only interrupted by a series of coughs that creased him over a moment before he snapped to attention again, a now audible rattle to his regular breathing apparent. Her husband could be just inside the door. Insist she come outside again? His gaze followed Miranda’s movements to her feet with her wand, and considered she had gone out of his sight and might have summoned aurors already. Lawrence’s lungs burned and his limbs felt heavy. A distracting, loud thought passed through his mind. Merlin, I want to sleep.

Another hollow cough bent him over, left arm clasped across his body instinctively at the ache and he turned his back to the wall of the cottage, leaning against it, almost out of sight of Miranda from inside, exhausted.
“I’ll stay out here.” He told her, though his uneven tone suggested he would much rather come inside but couldn’t bring himself to trust her. Not yet at least.

Stood at the door in the light of the kitchen, Miranda studied the wizard still skulking outside. This broken and smelly man was a million miles away from the cocky and happy teenaged boy she’d shared a classroom with.He lingers in the doorway, hood pulled up to hide a haggard and aged face framed in a greasy curly mane of matted straw. His body hunched over and the thoughts racking his head reached her, invading her own mind and thoughts. He didn’t trust her. He thought Ignan was inside.

Still trying to display a calm aura, Miranda pulled her dressing gown tighter around her body to shield off the cold and stared at the wizard who she was torn between being in fear of and feeling sorry for.

“My husband isn’t home. If he was you’d have been hexed by now.” She sighed and folded her arms. “You know I don’t have a huge amount of patience, Lawrence. So come in and get over with whatever you’ve been watching me for or piss off and leave me in peace.” Brave, yes. Stupid? Probably.

Outside, Lawrence’s head snapped up, expression confused. Had Miranda downed a bottle of felix felicis with her breakfast? She was rather bold for someone he had intimidated and thrown about on their last encounter!

He peered around the edge of the wall beside the back door and looked her up and down suspiciously. Fine then. Wand still in hand, he took the last few steps and stood inside the doorway. He wasn’t as tall as her husband, shorter by a few inches, but he drew himself up properly now. His gaze swept in the small kitchen, crammed with a table, and all the usual essentials for cooking. It was a smaller place than the one in Godric’s Hollow which was now empty. Despite the size, he could not deny it was homely…

Lawrence used his left arm to drag his hood down from his face, fixing a stare on Miranda. It wasn’t at all welcoming, more unsettling and hostile. He’d let her get the upper hand by inviting him in, he had to reassert. Without glancing away, he raised his wand, at first towards Miranda and then towards the kitchen door and above, casting wordlessly. Throughout the house there were thuds as the doors inside closed themselves. A second confirmed that nobody was home other than the two of them. Not lying then. Good.

“They don’t leave me.” His features curled into a smile as if he was genuinely pleased, “But I can control them.” Enough.
“I asked you to get them out of my head, but you lied.” His hand flexed his wand, as if considering hexing Miranda. “I hear them, I feel what they do. They are always hungry, Andy-"

Lawrence stopped speaking abruptly, wide-eyed, lips apart as if he could see something right over her shoulder. In his head he could hear the sound of a Muggle train’s horn blaring, the scream of mechanical brakes and a horrible, sickening crunch and feel the anguish from the dementor it came to him from. He screwed his eyes shut for just a moment, hissing in breath between his teeth. He forced his eyes open and stared at Miranda, not knowing whether she could hear it too.

“What do you,” Lawrence uttered urgently, "what do you with people who are nearly kissed?”

Musgrave’s figure loomed in the doorway, hunched over and weary. Miranda watched him cautiously as he stepped into the small kitchen, observing the changes in both her own feelings and his aura since the last time she’d been confronted with him.  Nights after his threats she’d lain awake in bed, unable to sleep, tormented by invasion of her safety. He had been a force, tormented yet powerful. He’d broken in and threatened her, made her terrified. This time Miranda felt she had some sort of control. She’d invited him in and he looked a mess. He didn’t seem scary this time. He seemed creepy; pathetic.

But that didn’t mean that her heart didn’t stop when the wand was pointed in her direction. When it moved away from her, doors around the cottage began slamming and the reality that they were alone hit home. But Ignan never stayed out long. 20 minutes at most. He’d be back before anything could happen.

“They don’t leave me.” The smile sent an icy chill through the Healer as she naturally took a step back, desiring a distance between herself and the madman in her kitchen. Her wand was no lowered but her hand was shaking, a sign of her fear and discomfort that she couldn’t control.

“I admit them to St Mungo’s for treatment.” Mira spoke softly, not wanting to alarm him. “I explore their minds and try to fit them back together.” A step closer, “Is that what you want, Lawrence? To be put back together in there? No more voices?”

“Is that what you want, Lawrence? To be put back together in there? No more voices?”

”You’ll stay out my head!” Lawrence’s wand was pointed at her head in an instant and he took a stride forward in the same movement. Both of his bloodshot eyes were wide and he squared himself to her, imposing, meaning to frighten her. She had taken the upper hand in this exchange and played a trump card too early for his liking. His mood pitched downwards in a sharp instant, I could crush her windpipe in a second.

Behind him, the back door combed lazily across the kitchen floor tiles in the morning air, hanging half open. Behind her, the water on the stove began to bubble, not quite boil yet.

Of course she wants to study me, Lawrence thought to himself, still staring madly at Miranda, make me turn myself in.
The dementor with the train was off again in search of more to eat, it’s meal now splattered under the Gorebridge to Edinburgh Waverley train. The presence in his mind broke into his violent thoughts of Miranda’s neck. He only hoped it didn’t come requesting a meal sensing he was a few miles away. There was summoning them, and there was being imposed on.

“Not in my mind.” He spoke pointedly, but more reasonably then he’d snapped, and lowered his wand a fraction. “You don’t want to be in my mind…” I don’t want to be in my mind He backed away half a step, nodded to the kettle on the heat. “Well don’t let it boil over.”

Lawrence lowered his wand little further, in her general direction than thrust in her face. His wish to hurt her was subsiding but he was still tense. He had to remember why he was here, what he needed. He watched her closely.

“What else," Lawrence began, but his lungs interrupted with the need to cough, and he bent forwards, wincing at the pain, "what else do you do with them. What do you give them?”

I could crush her windpipe in a second. Musgrave’s thoughts burst from his unstable mind as Miranda fell back against the counter, putting some distance between herself and the mad wizard pointing a wand at her head. This had been a terrible idea to invite him inside. An intense wish to catch him out and get him arrested had driven Miranda on. A strong need to prove to herself that she wasn’t weak had stopped her from running upstairs for her healer’s badge to call for support. Now she was once more terrified. But he’d not hurt her last time. Simply threatened…

Something drew Musgrave away from his intense glaring at her, distracted thoughts that she couldn’t hear. His expression grew more anxious as he displayed very obvious symptoms of over exposure to dementors. They were in his head. He was right, his mind would be a horrible place to delve into. But she wanted to.

“Well don’t let it boil over.” The healer jumped as her ‘visitor’ indicated the kettle. Her head snapped around to the stove and she twisted the knob on the countertop, not risking waving her wand about to cause him to attack.

The wizard suddenly began to hack and Miranda spun her head around once more to watch him spluttering. When Ignan came back, Musgrave would be no match. She just had to hold out until then.

“Potions don’t work, Lawrence.” Miranda responded, trying to appear calm and not scared. Her shaking hands, however, as she pulled mugs from the cupboard, betrayed her. At the same time as retrieving the hot chocolate powder, Miranda’s fingers clasped a small vial from beside it. A confused schedule and sleep pattern meant that sometimes she had terrible trouble sleeping at normal times. The sleeping potion was normally kept beside the hot chocolate. The ease of an evening night cap. Or the ease of putting out a wizard plagued by dementors.

Mrs Storm kept her back to Lawrence as she prepared the drinks, trying to hide the vial.
“Unless you stop running with dementors you won’t improve, Lawrence.”

The mugs in Andy’s hands rattled. Lawrence drew the left arm of his cloak across his clammy forehead. Whereas it was bitterly cold outside, in the cottage there was heat and whatever cold he had picked up made him sweat.

“Potions don’t work, Lawrence.” The Head Healer explained, her back to him, which made him uneasy as he couldn’t see her hands. “Unless you stop running with dementors you won’t improve, Lawrence.” I know that! He could have surmised that answer himself, and it made him angry. He had come to Andy Carter to get answers he did not know because she was the Head Healer! Idiot woman!

Behind her, he drew closer, wand trained to the back of her head.
“I told you,” he spoke in a low, rough voice, the tip of his wand gently pressing to the back of her neck where it met her head, “they don’t leave me alone.” His breathing was laboured, the rattle from his chest more apparent at close quarters. Despite his proximity, he still couldn’t quite see her hands clearly. “You’re the best healer in Britain. You know what to do, and you will heal me, even if I have to hurt you first.” Starting with those pretty little legs...

Lawrence was inching forward when there was noise and movement at the back door behind them. His wand snapped from Miranda’s neck to the interruption, left shoulder barging the witch into the kitchen side, but giving her an ample distraction. The owl hooted at them both loudly, keen to deposit the parcel it was carrying rather than to be held at wandpoint at the end of the kitchen table. Lawrence’s heart skipped a beat at the fact it was just an owl, and not another person.

“Damn bi-“ another cough obscured his words and he wordlessly cast to release the parcel from the bird’s leg, left arm wrapping around his aching chest. Augh, that hurts


“No, don’t come. Not now.” Lawrence spoke aloud, distracted by the dementor coming closer, but still a mile or so away. The owl hooted again, the back door having swung shut too close for it to get out.

He rounded on Miranda again, exasperated, running out of time, both her husband and his dementor on their way.
“Hurry up.” He rasped.

“I told you,” Miranda felt the tip of his wand touch the back of her neck through her long messy hair, she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm down. “they don’t leave me alone.” This was a bad idea; a terrible idea to usher him in and act calm and confident. Inside she was screaming for Ignan to get home and take him by surprise.

Even if he had to hurt her first… his thought broke through to her mind, his thought of starting with her legs. So many ifs were flooding her mind. If she’d have gotten dressed straight away that morning, if she wore pyjamas to bed, if she had gone out with Ignan, if she hadn’t gone to inspect the disturbance in the garden, if she had have run back upstairs for her badge to call the aurors, if she had have taken Ignan’s lesson on defensive spells seriously all those months ago.

He was moving closer and Miranda’s face screwed up at the thought of him behind her, at his breathing, at his smell. But there was a noise and he quickly moved, shoving her into the counter as he did. Her head span around to the distraction, not caring for the owls safety but glad for a distraction. So she used the moment to pour the potion into the mug and tuck the vial into her dressing gown pocket. A couple of drops, carefully measured, she’d once berated Ignan. This time she’d emptied the whole thing into the mug and hadn’t asked Lawrence anything about antelope.

“Hurry up.” Musgrave was back beside her, too close from comfort after having just emptied a vial of strong sleeping potion into his drink. Whoever he didn’t want to come now, they weren’t good news. Her hands still shook as she turned around the steaming mug to offer it to Musgrave. This would be her chance. Even if he realised what was in it once her took a sip, it was strong. And one hand meant he would need to put his wand down.

She had him. She was certain.

Miranda extended a mug of hot chocolate to him. Her hands shook, and he narrowed his eyes at her and then glanced pointedly to the kitchen clock.
“Put it on the table.” He ordered quickly, and when there was the slightest hesitation poked his wand tip towards her ribs, “On the table."

The owl hooted and flapped by the back door but went unheeded by either figure in the kitchen. Lawrence’s gaze was trained back on Miranda. He reached for the mug instinctively with his remaining right hand, his wand still hooked between thumb and forefinger, and the hot chocolate ascended before him towards his mouth. It smelled pretty good, all things considering, and he raised it to his lips and stopped. Was it his imagination - or was Miranda holding her breath?

Lawrence lowered the hot chocolate down to the table again, still watching Miranda. What was she doing..?
“Just chocolate then?” He asked, ambiguously, dark, bloodshot eyes unrelenting in their examination of her reaction. He didn’t need to be a legilimens to see the signs of stress, she was definitely regretting inviting him in now. Perhaps her ankle… “You’re not being very helpful Andy…” … stand on it... "Are you thinking straight? Perhaps I can provide incentive.”